


forget all the shooting stars

by yukrens



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life, a bit cliche?, nerd aesthetic jaemin, punk aesthetic jeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14287143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukrens/pseuds/yukrens
Summary: You don't have to say I love you to say I love you.(Or, in which Jeno and Jaemin are neighbours, best friends, boyfriends, and everything in between.)





	forget all the shooting stars

**Author's Note:**

> _— Troye Sivan, for him._  
>   
>  inspired by the [these looks](https://twitter.com/leejxno/status/984119066028748800)!  
> i tried studying a bit of very basic architecture for their houses, but i couldn’t explain why the windows sills or the awnings would extend to a point that they’re close enough to jump. sjjsjsj s o ! just assume there are doors right beneath them and it’s just,, a bad decision jaemin and jeno benefitted from. thank you, lmao

 

 

> _are you home yet_
> 
> _not yet_
> 
> _lies i just heard your bike pull up_
> 
> _that could have been my sister_
> 
> _i can see you walking up to your door wtf jeno_
> 
> _i’m just kidding lmao what’s up babe_
> 
> _open your window_
> 
> _?? it’s? freezing?_
> 
> _you know why >:( _
> 
> _you’re cute nana_
> 
> _just open the goddamned window_
> 
> _are you going to jump the gap?_
> 
> _ofc mum’s locked me in and i need a way out_
> 
> _you’re seriously going to hurt yourself someday_
> 
> _not today babe_

“You’re insane,” Jeno calls out when he slides open the window to his room. Jaemin, dressed in the same cute button up and jeans combo he wore to school earlier grins at him, specs on the tip of his nose glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. He places one foot on his windowsill, then the other, then carefully skids down the awning until he’s at the closest point he can get to Jeno’s side.

They’re only on the second storey, but right beneath them is a drop that would probably leave anyone impaled onto the fence between their houses if they slip. Jeno’s heart actually painfully shudders in his chest whenever he so much as thinks about that very real possibility, Jaemin knows this, and yet - Jaemin beams, saying, “Catch me!” Then he jumps.

Jeno’s arms shoot out of their own accord, grappling for Jaemin’s waist and tugging him close and safely inside. They stumble to the wooden flooring of Jeno’s room, Jaemin laughing and Jeno groaning from the bruises that are sure to be forming along his shoulder blades. Pushing himself to his elbows above him, Jaemin smiles down at Jeno, specs slipping further down his nose and caramel hair forming a halo around his head.

“You’re insane,” Jeno repeats in a breath. Jaemin on a bad day is awe-inspiring - Jaemin, now, with a gleeful flush to his cheeks and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes makes Jeno want to die, sort of.

“Ah, but you love me,” he sing-songs in that annoying way only Na Jaemin can. Jeno blushes hotly. Jaemin leans down, nuzzling against his cheek, down his jaw to his neck. He leaves featherlight kisses as he goes, and Jeno sighs in contentment, eyes falling shut. His arms tighten around Jaemin’s small waist, hands stroking along his spine just the way the younger boy likes it.

“Why’d your mum ground you?” asks Jeno eventually, when his limbs start to tingle from the pressing weight of another person on them. He wriggles around a bit to get some feeling back into his legs, then goes still when Jaemin whines. “Can’t we do this on the bed?”

“I don’t want to move,” Jaemin huffs petulantly, headbutting Jeno gently and conveniently ignoring his question.

Sputtering, he says, “Brat.” It has no bite to it.

“I haven’t even changed yet,” he tries, because while his leather jacket and his boots are perfect for the weather, they aren’t any good for cuddling. Jaemin doesn’t even budge, just mutters something about how hot he thinks Jeno looks in his jacket. “Thanks, babe,” he laughs a bit. “But I’d be more comfortable out of my clothes and on my bed.”

Jaemin pulls back from where he’d basically melded his face into the side of Jeno’s neck only to stare down at him with a leer. Jeno feels warm. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Aw, but, babe,” Jaemin pouts, rising onto his knees above Jeno’s stomach with a pout. He looks unearthly, with his dishevelled hair, golden specs, plush lips, and long, thick lashes. Jeno’s insides do that funny thing they do when Jaemin looks as he does, now, where they feel like they’re swooping impossibly low, soaring into the heavens, and dancing to the rush of his blood all at once.

Jeno knows he’s already lost. Groaning, he swats at Jaemin’s thigh, tells him, “Fine. Whatever. But only if you tell me why you’re grounded and promise to never jump the gap like that again.”

Jaemin smiles so wide his cheeks flush a pretty pink and his eyes curve into sweet little crescents. Angelic. “Deal!”

The next thing Jeno knows is that he’s being forcefully removed of his jacket and pushed onto his bed.

 

“A ladder,” Jeno says a little despairingly as he is forced to watch Jaemin cross the empty divide between the small ledge outside his window to the small ledge outside Jeno’s. “Why don’t you use a ladder? Or even better yet, use a harness. I’ll set it up for you and everything.”

“You’re such a worrywart,” snorts Jaemin after Jeno’s pulled him into his room. It’s a Sunday morning and Jaemin’s mum is probably puttering about the kitchen, blocking off any chance to escape her coddling - other than his own room, of course. “You’re going to go grey and it’ll be natural this time.”

Jeno rolls his eyes at Jaemin’s jab at his attempt at going blond in the past summer - it was alright and it _suit_ him, if Jaemin’s constant staring told him anything. Just - maintenance is such a pain, and before he knew it, Jeno’s hair was so fried it could have broken from a tug of Jaemin’s tapered fingers. Jaemin didn’t like the fact that they could barely make out properly without him fearing that he’d be the cause of his boyfriend’s premature baldness. ( _Black hair is superior anyway_ , Jaemin would always say if Jeno brings it up.)

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he sighs, returning to his closest to pick something out for the day. Jaemin said he wanted to go on a date, and while Jeno would happily spend his entire day locked in his room with Jaemin watching some anime or playing on his Switch, he is weak to Jaemin’s wishes. “Have I told you that Mrs. Kim kicked me out of class yesterday when you made me late?”

Jaemin shoots up from where he’d been merging with Jeno’s sheets, a wide grin on his lips. “Really?” Jeno wishes his boyfriend found less amusement in his problems.

“Yeah.” He pulls out a black, distressed long-sleeved top and holds it to his chest. Jaemin eyes it before shaking his head _no_. “I tried telling her it was because I’d gone with you to the infirmary, but then she said it was probably my fault in the first place.” Jaemin snorts. Jeno shoots him an unimpressed look. “This is why you shouldn’t make me come with you if you want to skip class.”

“Is it even skipping if the teacher didn’t even show up?” He wrinkles his nose adorably. “No, I don’t think so.”

“How about this?” Jeno shows him a dark flannel, frayed at the hems. It’s one of Jaemin’s favourite shirts on him, so he has to admit he’s a little surprised when Jaemin shakes his head _no_ for the second time.

“Chill, Jeno,” he giggles, “we’re only going to the park. And maybe the music shop.”

“This, then?” The top is cut off at the sleeves, a little too bare for the weather, but the sun is scorching despite the cool air, so he’s going to take his chances.

Jaemin contemplates him briefly, then walks over to his closet where he rummages around for a cap. It’s yellow and horrible and a joke gift from his sister, but it was from his sister, so he’d never had the heart to throw it out. Jaemin plays with Jeno’s hair for a moment, before setting the cap on his head. Then he steps back and beams at him. “Perfect!”

Suddenly, without warning or sense, warmth creeps up his neck and flows into his cheeks. Thankfully, Jaemin’s attention has already returned to Jeno’s wardrobe, so he has the chance to pull the cap lower over his face without him noticing.

 

It’s almost noon when Jeno finally finds his way to school. He isn’t one to cut class purposefully, but he tends to oversleep often and he misses class much more than he would prefer because of it. His hoodie is snug around him, soft against his skin, the hood pulled over his messy hair.

He’d woken that morning to numerous messages from Jaemin (and a few from his two other friends, but anyone who isn’t Jaemin isn’t his priority, so) asking him if he’s alright, then asking him if he’s overslept, and then, finally, laughing at him because he’s landed two detentions already and the day’s barely halfway to ending. He is actually the worst and Jeno doesn’t even know why he bothers with his shit.

To top everything off, Jeno doesn’t share any classes with Jaemin for the remainder of the day and all of his professors think he’s the devil incarnate, even though his grades are probably better than ninety-five percent of his schoolmates. Unfair, really. And Jeno hasn’t really even ever _done_ anything to make them believe that.

“Hey, beast,” Jaemin greets him with a smirk when Jeno drops into the seat beside him.

Jeno scowls at him, or tries to (it’s hard to not smile at Na Jaemin sometimes), because Jaemin _knows_ he hates that nickname.

“I think it’s cute,” he says in his defence, shrugging in his slouchy pullover. It’s in a pink almost exactly the shade of his lips and it’s very, very distracting. Taking his sandwich in his hands, he glances at Jeno’s own empty ones. “You’re not going to eat?”

“Ate before I left,” he answers shortly, slumping into Jaemin’s side. He pushes until his head is slotted neatly into the curve of his neck and shuts his eyes in contentment. He’s still feeling drowsy and slow, and he’d appreciate a short nap.

“They talked again,” he informs him around a mouthful of his lunch, smiling closed-lipped at Yukhei and Mark who join them at their corner table.

“Who did?”

“Everyone, of course,” Jeno is notified rather joyously.

He pinches Jaemin’s side lightly. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Without a doubt,” Jaemin chirps promptly. “It’s funny how everyone pretends to hate you, but is still so fond of you.” There’s a bite to his words that makes Jeno sigh and loop his arms around his waist.

“They don’t pretend to hate me.”

“Sure they don’t.”

“They’re just scared of you,” Mark adds unhelpfully. “You, too,” he adds to Yukhei, who preens.

“Just because you beat up a guy once,” Jaemin sighs mock-dreamily. “My hero.”

Jeno groans and pushes away from his annoying boyfriend. “Shut up, please.”

“I’d kiss you right now, but we’re at school and I just ate,” Jaemin tells him with a sweet smile.

Jeno groans again. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to the sharp end of Jaemin’s jaw.

 

Jeno is both surprised and unsurprised to find Jaemin sitting by the schoolgates with a smoothie in hand and some strays by his feet when he slinks out of detention. He tugs his hoodie down as he approaches his boyfriend slowly, appreciating the way the murky light of dusk airbrushes his features into something soft and that bit ethereal.

“You’re here,” he says dumbly.

“Of course.” Jaemin’s eyes flicker over to him for the briefest of moments before focusing on the kitten trying to lick at the ankle of his boot. Jaemin moves his foot out of the way with a regretful sigh. “That’s new, sweetie.”

“You should adopt one,” Jeno tells him, crouching down next to him and cooing at Jaemin’s collection of strays. “They love you.”

“Mum wouldn’t let me,” he says with a pout. Jaemin, with his slipping glasses, his glossed lips, his pink sweater, and his leather jacket, looks like a thing of Jeno’s dreams and nightmares. “I’ll take one in after high school. Or maybe a puppy.”

“In college?” He blinks. “Would you even have time?”

Jaemin sighs again, now, though, in a way that tells Jeno he’s said something wrong.

“What? What did I miss?”

“Nothing, babe,” Jaemin smiles. A flutter begins in Jeno’s ribcage. “Get me another smoothie, please? Or maybe some ice cream.”

Jeno makes a face at him, but his hand is already reaching for his back pocket to check for his wallet.

“Please?”

He lets Jaemin take ahold of his hand and surprises him by jerking him close. Luckily, his smoothie cup is empty and nothing sticky spills onto their clothes.

Still, Jaemin shrieks in indignance and holds the cup as far away as possible from his body. “Jeno!”

“How about I get you dinner instead?” laughs Jeno, grabbing the empty cup and tossing it into a nearby rubbish bin. With a firm grip on Jaemin, he drags him to the lot where he’s parked his bike. “What do you say?”

“It better not be a barbecue place because I just had this jacket dry-cleaned,” Jaemin grumbles, grabbing Jeno’s nice helmet with a bratty scowl.

Jeno laughs again, strapping the ugly spare helmet he owns onto his head. He sits himself on his bike and tugs on Jaemin’s arm until his boyfriend is pressed against his back in one long line. “Are you really turning down galbisal?”

“Can you even afford it?”

Jeno wiggles a bit. “Sure. But if you want some chicken or ddeok, I’m fine -”

Jaemin cuts him off with a sharp grope of his hand to his ass, fishing for Jeno’s wallet. He rummages through it until he pulls out Jeno’s sister’s credit card with an unimpressed look on his face.

“I didn’t steal it,” Jeno says defensively, taking his wallet and his card back and slotting it in the pocket of his jacket. “I did her a favour and she owes me.”

Jaemin raises his eyebrows.

“I’m serious.”

“If you say so,” he replies, obviously disbelieving. But he locks his arms around Jeno’s waist soon after, hissing something into his shoulder about wanting at least two orders for himself and only himself, _you can order something else for yourself, Jeno._

Jeno can’t help the fondness that gathers in his chest as he starts the bike.

 

Jeno doesn’t smoke the way Yukhei does, doesn’t like the taste or burn of it. He doesn’t like the way his voice turns even more gravelly afterwards or the way the smoke clings to his clothes and his hair and his breath. Jaemin doesn’t like it either.

But sometimes, a cigarette does wonders to keep other people away and that’s exactly what he needs at the moment.

He breathes the pollutant into his lungs, his mind screaming at him about heightened risks of throat and lung cancer from this little stick, but he shuts it down. Yukhei is across from him, sitting on a skewed chair, long limbs loose and relaxed. It’s only in the tight clench to his jaw that Jeno even realises he’s concerned about their situation.

To say the two of them are popular at school isn’t an exaggeration; fame or infamy, either way they are quite known. Yukhei says it’s because of their good looks and dazzling charm, but Jeno knows it has more to do with how they steer clear of the general student population at all times than anything else. (High schoolers are _vicious_.) Jaemin says it’s because they look _bad_ , which doesn’t make sense, because neither he nor Yukhei has the heart to even stare down a puppy. Black and boots and bad attendance records and bikes don’t make them _bad._

Eventually, Yukhei sighs, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing it with the heel of his shoe. His windbreaker ripples, squeaking, as he stands, tall and imposing. Jeno holds back a tired moan and follows along.

The three guys at the opening to the alleyway behind the school gym Jeno and Yukhei have come to claim as their own sneer after being locked out for one too many tardies sneer.

“It’s the dog,” one of them says in a nasally tone, eyes turning to Jeno, “and the beast.”

He almost groans aloud at the horrible, horrible nickname - a product of one - just the one! - fight. It wasn’t even _that_ bad, honestly. A knocked out tooth and a bruised ulna. It was only what that asshole deserved for harrassing Jaemin like he did. Practically nothing compared to what actual high school thugs get into. Jeno has no plans of fucking around with them.

“What do you want?” Yukhei asks them, letting his shoulders slump in the lazy way that annoys everyone who, for lack of better word, challenges them.

Jeno really doesn’t understand why it happens. There isn’t anything special about Yukhei and him; if anything, the only remarkable thing about them is that they haven’t been suspended yet despite the amount of classes they’ve accidentally (and sometimes admittedly purposefully) missed. Jeno sometimes suspects it has something to do with the stories Yukhei tells in the parties he’s invited to by his college friends, because really. The only person who gets more of a kick out of that forsaken nickname than Jaemin is Yukhei.

“Some fun,” one says. Which. What the actual fuck.

Jeno is dumbstruck enough to voice out his question.

When the trio go quiet, he crouches slightly and readies himself. They’re covered head to toe in tiny bruises and scrapes, clearly from roughhousing or assaulting innocent high schoolers, signs of a seasoned troublemaker.

He inhales deeply.

They make the first move. The idiot in the middle comes running with his fists out. Yukhei is quick to avoiding his flailing arms and sends him to the floor with a swipe of his foot to his legs. His head smacks the ground, without a sickening crack, thank god, which anticlimactically knocks him out. After that, it’s a mess of limbs and grunts.

They grapple for far longer than Jeno is interested in. After an elbow to the gut, he wonders when this will end and hopes it’s very, very soon. He still has the last class of the day to get to - music, with Jaemin and Mark. They’ll notice his absence - and his scratches - without a doubt. He already winces in dread.

The asshole catches his jaw with a fist and Jeno growls at the pain that shoots through his face from it. He clutches at the spot where a bruise is sure to bloom, and lashes out with a foot at his chest. It sends the other guy to the ground and keeps him there, not because Jeno has done any substantial damage, but because a figure tackles him and refuses to let him go.

The bright pink sweater takes a moment to register, and when it does, the asshole already has a probably broken nose and maybe some bruised ribs.

“Jaemin?” Jeno half-chokes.

His best friend ignores him - Jeno knows he hears him - in favour of delivering hit after hit to the rando’s face.

“Jaemin, stop!”

Jeno watches in concern - not for Jaemin, but for the poor fuck who’s getting his ass handed to him on a platter - as his boyfriend punches the guy under the chin one more time before he stands and digs the heel of his heavy boot beneath the meeting of his ribs.

“You’re going to break something, Nana,” Jeno berates, gently wrapping his fingers around Jaemin’s wrist. His boyfriend is trembling with badly suppressed anger, eyes wide and furious. He’s as beautiful as always, if a little wild, Jeno muses, combing his fingers through Jaemin’s messy hair.

“Good,” Jaemin spits, and manages to land one more vindictive kick to the poor fuck’s side. He grins when the guy curls into himself on his other, wheezing a little. “Tell everyone that’s what you get for messing with Lee Jeno.”

“Nana,” Jeno repeats, frowning. He tightens his grip on Jaemin’s wrist and inspects the bloodied mess that is his knuckles. “Fuck, Nana -”

He turns to face him and Jeno finally sees the frustrated tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I told you to stay away from here! This isn’t the first time, Jeno.”

“That’s exactly it, Jaemin,” he answers softly, “this isn’t the first time. They can find me anywhere.”

He takes a shuddering breath, shoulders rising with his tension. “ _Also_ ,” he spits, and Jeno can’t help but feel grateful for the change in topic, “I told you I hate it when you smoke!”

“Sorry, babe,” is all Jeno allows himself to say, admiring the pretty flush to Jaemin’s cheeks. He looks like he’s about to cry and that’s so _Jaemin_ , to cry over something as stupid and recurring as Jeno (and Yukhei) being threatened by some… some children. They’re thugs, high school thugs with no weapons or criminal records to their name, they can’t honestly do any lasting or even concerning damage to Jeno and Yukhei who’ve seen the same thing, and experienced the same thing, dozens of times over before. If they fight dirty, Jeno and Yukhei will fight dirtier, simple as.

Jeno picks Jaemin’s specs from the floor, wipes them with the inside of his shirt, and gingerly places them on Jaemin’s face. “Beautiful,” he breathes.

Jaemin rolls his eyes and smacks Jeno’s chest, but Jeno can see the way his face warms and feels the way he leans into his touch. Something inside Jeno flutters at that.

Still, he can’t forget the injuries Jaemin now bears because of him, so he calls out to Yukhei that they’re leaving (his friend yells something about _betrayal_ and _abandonment_ and a dozen other too-dramatic things). Jaemin mumbles about needing to go to last period, having left Mark alone, but Jeno doesn’t care right now. (He’ll apologise later. Mark needs his history notes anyway.)

“You wanted to skip class anyway, didn’t you?” is all he says as he tugs Jaemin to the infirmary. Jaemin remains silent, petulant as a child.

Fondly, Jeno presses his lips to the base of Jaemin’s palm. “C’mon. Let’s get those wounds cleaned.”

 

The school library is mostly empty of people at this hour.

Jeno patiently waits for the staff in charge to photocopy the necessary pages he needs for his philosophy paper, scrolling idly through his phone as he does. There are maybe fifty pages to copy and recopy and the printer is slow as fuck. The school should really look into replacing it - or maybe getting another one. God knows they can afford it.

Jaemin, being the _good_ boyfriend he apparently is, stays behind and loiters by some bookshelves. He’s pretending to be scanning the titles, but Jeno knows he’s more than likely to be counting them to get his mind off the absolute nothingness of fun things to do at the moment. He isn’t a very talkative person, but he gets bored easily, especially in the stillness of the library.

He’s wearing his largest round specs today, a white hoodie, and joggers - or in other words, his slouch wear. It isn’t often that he comes to school looking like he’s just rolled out of bed. Jeno is pretty sure Jaemin is one of the only seniors to still _loosely_ follow the dress code. (In all honesty, he can’t remember the last time he wore a shirt with buttons to school himself, much less a time when he wore a shirt underneath a hoodie.) His hair is even wilder than usual and Jeno wants to run his fingers through it, itches to _touch_ and mess it up further. He just looks so _good._

He watches as Jaemin pulls out a book on the history of the Korean alphabet and almost snorts at the confused expression on his face. Jaemin likes to act like he’s always on top of things, even when he’s utterly lost. The little pout he has when he encounters something he doesn’t know is adorable. _He_ is adorable.

Eventually, Jeno takes pity and waves his hand in a way that hopefully catches Jaemin’s attention and no one else’s. It works, because his best friend is slotting the book back into place and turning to him with a raised eyebrow. There’s a pout on his lips; Jeno wants to coo.

He flaps his hand once more, gesturing for Jaemin to come to his side. Jaemin makes a disgruntled expression, but he moves down the aisle anyway, fiddling with his hair. It doesn’t do anything to help, but Jeno appreciates the effort.

Before he gets to Jeno, however, Jaemin is stopped by a small girl, probably a first year from her strict ‘uniform’, long sleeved button up and dark skirt and loafers and all. Jeno mindlessly scuffs at the tiled floor with the toe of his boots.

The girl’s blushing, which makes him want to tense up almost instantly, because that can’t a be a good sign, but Jaemin smiles at her. It’s a beatific turn of lips that informs Jeno he’s about to act like the star student he isn’t. She’s asking for some sort of help, rubbing her elbow and handing him a sheet.

Jeno only realises she’s looking for a book when Jaemin sends him a panicked glance over her head. Jaemin _never_ comes down to the library; Jeno would be surprised if his library card has ever been used.

He can only shrug apologetically. Jeno only ever comes down here to borrow a computer or to print something or to hide from a teacher. If he does need reference materials, he goes to the community library, which is more than he can say for Jaemin, really.

The corners of Jaemin’s smile sharpen into something sinister, before they soften into a sweet Role Model sort of grin at the girl. “I’ll lead you right there,” Jeno hears him say, before disappearing towards the science section.

Cackling inside, Jeno turns back to the staff handling the photocopier.

 

“Hurry up!” Jaemin calls at him, specs skewed on the bridge of his nose and hair a little wild from the whipping wind. He has his card holder in his hand and he waves it angrily at Jeno. “ _Quick_!”

“We’re not going to be late,” Jeno tells him, slightly out of breath after having to catch up to Jaemin’s much longer strides. He taps his wallet on the sensor and passes through the gates, slotting his wallet back into his pocket. There isn’t much of a rush in this side of Seoul at this hour, but there are still enough people to be concerned about whether there would still be free seats for the both of them.

Jaemin’s gym bag bounces against his hip as he speedwalks his way to the train, his leg jiggling anxiously.

“We’re going to miss it,” he says a bit pathetically.

“No,” Jeno replies, taking his bag and hiking it on his own shoulder to give Jaemin a bit of room to breathe. “A train comes by every ten minutes, we’re not going to miss it, and we’re not going to be late for anything.”

“But I timed it!” Jaemin protests, eyes wide in earnest. “We’d get there with five minutes of walking to the venue to spare, and then I’d still have an hour and a half to prepare!”

Jeno can’t help his smile. He takes Jaemin’s hands into his and slots them into his coat pockets, pulling him close. He ignores the hustle and bustle of the station around them, because it isn’t important right now. It’s only ten in the morning, run-throughs begin at one, and the competition starts at five, but Jaemin is occasionally dramatic and neurotic, and he happens to be both at the moment, so here they are anyway. Jeno’s Saturday mornings are for sleep and games, but he wouldn’t miss this for anything.

“Jaemin,” he tries to say as soothingly as possible, “now you’re going to have an hour and twenty minutes to prepare, and that’s fine. Okay? You’re going to do great. You’ve been practising for months for this competition.”

“But my crew…”

“Your crew will understand,” Jeno tells him, smiling. “One of them… ah, Jisung! He’s probably still asleep right now, right? But he’ll get there before the competition and he’ll help you warm up.” He pauses, shuffling in his boots. Perhaps he should have worn trainers today. “If he isn’t there on time, then I’ll be there to help you. Alright?” Jeno used to do a bit of dancing before _,_ he can probably help Jaemin out. A bit. Probably.

Jaemin’s bottom lips wobbles, then drops open, forming the beginning of a word. Jeno doesn’t know what he means to say in that moment, because the station sounds with the telltale tune of an approaching train.

Jeno pulls Jaemin inside and spots a free seat. He tries to push Jaemin into it, but Jaemin stands firm, shaking his head. They’re at least eight stations away from where they need to be, so Jeno rolls his eyes, drops into the seat, and pulls Jaemin to sit right in his lap. Jaemin squeaks in surprise, but he doesn’t make an attempt to disengage himself from Jeno’s grip, so he takes it as a win.

Jaemin wiggles around to get cosy, pulling out his phone and plugging in his earbuds. He hunches over, spine curling into the front of Jeno’s chest, as he watches his troupe’s dance practice video with an intensity that he doesn’t exhibit in other things. Jeno leans back, one hand wrapped around Jaemin’s thigh, the other clutching onto the strap of Jaemin’s gym bag.

He attempts an apologetic smile at someone who almost trips over the massive thing when the train rolls into a halt. He knows how much it hurts, from first-hand experience, of course. Jaemin packs his training clothes, his costume, his shoes, more clothes, water bottles, snacks, contact lenses, lens solution, makeup, and a million other things in his bag until it’s filled to the brim and built like a rock. It weighs a fuckton, and carrying it is a workout in and of itself.

There are only three stations left when he feels it, the slight trembling discordial with the beat of the train. He instinctively presses forward, covering his best friend’s back with his front, gauging the unevenness in his breathing. It’s a pattern Jeno unfortunately recognises.

“Nana,” Jeno whispers softly, reaching for Jaemin’s hands curled into tight, cold fists. “Babe, come on.”

He wants to soothe the not-quite-gasps, not-quite-sobs wracking through Jaemin’s body, the symptoms of not-quite-panic Jaemin has seen him experience too often over their relationship. He wants to kiss the fear away, cuddle him into placidness, wrap him up in the fluffy warmth of a dozen blankets - things Jaemin would do to him without hesitation on his bad days. But they’re not at home, not even in their neighbourhood, and Jeno barely has space to breathe, much less to lay down and cuddle with his boyfriend.

“You’ll do great,” Jeno tells him as earnestly as he can. “You’re the best dancer I’ve ever seen, okay? And I don’t lie to you, Nana. I never lie to you.”

It takes a while, but Jaemin eventually curls into himself, manoeuvring until his head is perched on Jeno’s shoulder and Jeno can feel the steady puffs of his breath against his collarbones. “You’ve lied to me before,” he whispers. Jeno strains to hear him over the sound of everything else. The metro is always so annoyingly busy at this hour.

“Don’t be stupid,” he promptly responds. “When have I ever?”

“That one time you pretended to forget it was my birthday only to surprise me at home that same evening,” Jaemin answers, words slow and gentle. There’s a hint of exhaustion to his voice that tells Jeno he’s safe.

He sputters, “That was different!”

Jaemin mumbles something Jeno doesn’t understand, melting into his lap in the most uncomfortable way possible for him, surely. Jeno doesn’t mind if Jaemin doesn’t, so he doesn’t say anything.

They miss their stop. It sends Jaemin into a bit of a panic, makes him chew on his nails and grip Jeno’s hand too tightly. Thankfully, it passes quickly. On the way to the correct station, Jaemin is calm and cool and quietly singing into Jeno’s ears.

“Do you think it’ll go well?” asks Jaemin when the announcement that they’re nearing their destination comes through.

“Without a doubt,” Jeno answers dutifully - honestly.

Jaemin sighs happily. “You’re the best, Jeno.”

A little confused, Jeno takes the sudden compliment with a smile.

 

Jeno spends most of his evenings catching up on homework or classes that he’s either missed or slept through. Jaemin and Yukhei like to tell him that he’s smart enough to pass even without doing so, but Mark tells him he has what it takes to excel. So he listens to Mark, his only truly good friend, and not to the two troublemakers.

He doesn’t know what he wants to do yet, so he hasn’t a choice. He needs to lay out a good foundation in about everything for when he finally decides what he wants to do in life. He already has a partial scholarship in a top university under his belt, but he can’t rely on that forever. A good business course is nice and certain, but he’s also certain it isn’t what he wants to do forever.

Mark has options everywhere, even some in North America. Ivy Leagues? Jeno isn’t too sure about them; he’d never thought about that far away. All he knows about them is from what his teachers have been rattling at them all through last year’s cram school, which is prestige upon prestige upon prestige. What he really knows is that Mark has already decided on staying in South Korea and going to a performing arts university for music production and theory. It took most of the school by surprise, and Jeno remembers Mark being pulled out of a few classes for long and tedious conversations with the guidance counsellors, most of which were along the lines of _are you sure_ and _yes, I’m sure._ Neither Jeno nor Jaemin were surprised with his decision. Mark loves music, more than anything. Despite the nerdy aesthetic he seems to carry, it _suits_ him.

Coincidentally, Jaemin is going to the same university to major in dance. Anyone who knows Jaemin, really _knows_ him, wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. Jaemin’s apparent passion for literature and fashion is second to his love for telling stories with his body. Jaemin’s always loved dancing, does it after school some days, and in the mornings of weekends when he can. He has a crew he’s part of and they do small performances here and there, as well as participate in a bunch of competitions which Jeno makes a point never to miss.

Jaemin belongs on stage, he thinks sometimes, or in the studio. Jaemin belongs anywhere he can dance freely. Jeno remembers when Jaemin wasn’t allowed to go to dance lessons as a child, remembers when he was told that dancing isn’t what boys do, that he was just wasting his time. He’s so glad that, a decade later, he is finally able to do what makes him happy.

He smiles down at Jaemin’s philosophy textbook, at the glittery highlighter he’d probably borrowed off of his seatmate and the half-hearted notes scrawled in the margins. There is a short and slightly badly drawn dance sequence along the edge of one page, vaguely resembling something from one of Jaemin’s old routines. He knows that if he was to flip the page, he would encounter even more similarly drawn sequences in their barely-recognisable squiggles.

He also knows that if he was to skip to the chapter on relationships, he would see his name listed alongside everyone Jaemin has ever loved, with extra hearts and sparkles because Jaemin is cute that way.

He’s already chuckling into his palm before he realises it, so incredibly fond of Na Jaemin that it’s hard to focus on what he needs to be doing - which is studying, because Jeno actually _needs_ to maintain his grades until graduation.

As if on cue, his phone lights up by the borrowed textbook with a notification from _nanaʚ♡⃛ɞ_.

> _jeno_
> 
> _yeah babe?_
> 
> _are you still awake_
> 
> _always_
> 
> _you’re not cute >:( _
> 
> _: < _
> 
> _can you come over_
> 
> _how_
> 
> _through the window?_
> 
> _open up_

“I seriously hate doing that,” Jeno grumbles upon entering Jaemin’s bedroom. He slams the window frame shut behind him, leaving the room in darkness. It’s late, very late, and the only light he can see is the glow of Jaemin’s phone against his face. He’s about to soullessly complain more until he catches sight of Jaemin’s expression. “Babe?”

His steps are almost cautious as he approaches his best friend. Softly, he calls, “Nana?”

It’s only when he’s within arm’s reach that he recognises the upsettingly familiar tear tracks on his cheeks and the tightness to the corners of his lips. There’s only ever one thing that gets him like this. His heart plummets as he pulls Jaemin towards him. “Oh, Nana…”

Jaemin flings his phone to the side, lunges forward to bury his face into Jeno’s chest, shudders with breathy sobs.

“Oh, Nana,” Jeno repeats sadly, chest heavy. He is easily reminiscent of a broken record, but he doesn’t know what to say. He’s sorry Jaemin’s dick of a biological father still comes by sometimes? He’s sorry that he hadn’t the power to yell back at him when they were younger? He’s sorry that there’s nothing he can do even now?

God, he’s _useless._

“Don’t worry,” Jaemin eventually manages to whisper into his chest, voice hoarse. “I just. He said the same things as always.” He takes in a trembling breath. “Fuck him.”

Jeno’s hands curl into tight fists at Jaemin’s back. His father was never physical with them, but he said the worst things to Jaemin and his mother. He was an asshole in every sense and Jeno is vindictively _glad_ he’s gone.

“You want to come over instead?” he offers quietly, tentatively. Jaemin’s curtains sway in the breeze of the air conditioning unit, pulling Jeno’s attention back to the window. Abruptly, he remembers why they even started using them in the first place over their front doors. (Jeno at twelve was quiet, still, but had a rashness to him fuelled only by his youth and his then-righteous indignation. He’d been the first to jump the gap between their rooms, if only because it was difficult to watch his best friend cry across from him alone.)

Mutely, Jaemin shakes his head, the tip of his nose rubbing uneven lines onto Jeno’s clavicle. “No, I… Mum’s downstairs.” After a pause, he adds, “Stay here instead. Please.”

“Of course.” Jeno presses a quick kiss to the crown of his head. _Anything._

 

“Should I get a tattoo?”

Jaemin looks up from his phone, blinking slowly. He doesn’t have his specs on and his shirt is unbuttoned and loose; he looks like something Jeno wants to keep his hands on forever and never let go. “What would it be of?”

Jeno stops the _something about you_ that almost slips from his mouth. He’s nineteen, okay, he’s not - he’s not a child. He knows what he wants, but he also knows that what he wants would sound stupid aloud.

“I don’t know.” He watches Jaemin return his gaze to his phone, perfect pretty fingers scrolling idly. Perhaps he would want this image inked onto his skin for the rest of his life. “A flower?”

The corner of Jaemin’s lips quirk. “Isn’t that too generic for you?”

“You’re of no help.” He flops onto his back, pulling his shorts up his thighs. It’s summer, and the heat is making his brain feel like it’s melting out of his ears. He and Jaemin had attempted to work out together earlier, but the weather proved to be too much for them. It’s gross, how he is lying in a puddle of his own sweat on the floor of his room. He doesn’t look forward to having to clean up later.

“If you get something tacky, I might actually break up with you.”

He huffs out a little laugh. “You’re such a dick, Nana.”

“Maybe you can get a di-”

“No,” Jeno cuts him off before he can even finish his words. Jaemin giggles. The room turns brighter then, it seems, although thankfully not any warmer.

It is quiet for a few moments.

“If I got a tattoo,” Jaemin begins quietly, absently, “I’d want it to be of something I’d love forever. Even if I lose it, or it hurts me… I’d want to love it.” After a beat, he continues, “I don't want to look at it and think, _oh, this was a bitch to get._ I want to think _I’m happy I got it._ That sort of thing.”

In the idleness of their shared silence, Jeno muses on that. He doesn’t know if anything even remotely similar to what Jaemin’s described exists for him. Jeno isn’t one to love anything fiercely or for a long time; he’s had his fair share of abandoned hobbies over the years as a result of it. His bike is his current obsession, but he’s already been thinking about asking for a car for a while now.

As a child, he’d never stuck with the same toy for more than a few months at a time - not even the same friends. Even relatives who had used to spoil him when he was young and naïve have lost his interest after one too many snide comments about his apparently bad rep.

“Maybe I shouldn’t get a tattoo,” he decides aloud eventually. By then, Jaemin has already taken over Jeno’s sound system and is blasting music he’s pretty sure Jaemin only discovered through memes - or maybe Yukhei. He stands by one speaker, with his bare back to Jeno, having shrugged off his shirt, in only mismatched socks and an awkwardly-sized pair of joggers.  Still, Jaemin’s legs are long, very long, very attractive in that weird way only Jaemin’s legs can be, and Jeno admires the pretty line Jaemin’s body makes.

He remembers when they were kids, and Jeno, clumsy, clumsy Jeno, had scraped his knees on the pavement outside and had to be helped up by a boy with noodles for arms. He was so, so embarrassed, especially when the boy smiled at him, because he was _so_ pretty and Jeno’s sister always told him not to embarrass himself in front of pretty people.

_They’ll think you’re dumb. They won’t like you._

The pretty boy with noodle arms is now standing half-naked in his bedroom, so. He’s pretty sure Jaemin likes him.

Jaemin faces him with a raised eyebrow, before his eyes drop back down to his phone. “Aw,” his boyfriend says in a little disappointed voice, “you’d have looked hot with a tat.”

Jeno hums.

 

Sometimes, when his window is shut, his curtains are pulled, and the sun is close to rising once more, Jeno tries to imagine what his life would be without Na Jaemin.

He can’t.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you've enjoyed this, ahh. <3 leave a comment or a kudos if you did like this!  
> much thanks to slimequeen and fateline for putting up with my bs as i wrote this. ;; you guys are the real mvps. <3  
>   
> i'm on twitter: [yukrens](https://mobile.twitter.com/yukrens) if you want to scream about jaeno/jeno/jaemin or just nct in general with me. i also have a cc: [jaemina](http://curiouscat.me/jaemina) if you prefer that! thank you! c:


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